


Crimson Petals

by greengrapegaze



Series: The Contrition of a Bouquet [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Death, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, I honestly have no idea what to tag this with, I wish there were more tags for angst because that's all this is, Implied Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Like, M/M, Major Illness, Mild Blood, No Dialogue, No Sex, No Spoilers, One-Sided Attraction, Petals, Sad, Sad Ending, Sick Character, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, When I say that this is sad, hanzo shimada - Freeform, it totally is my friends, it's just angst, jesse mccree - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9893972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greengrapegaze/pseuds/greengrapegaze
Summary: It started on a cold fall morning and ended on a warm winter's night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say that I'm sorry in advance for any typos or errors you will read moving forward.  
> I wrote this at 3 AM to torture my girlfriend with angst.

It had started on a cold fall morning. 

The symptoms had plagued him for far longer. The itch at the back of his throat, the congestion within his chest, and the reediness of every breath-they had all been present for several weeks now. Yet the symptoms were nothing in comparison to the first velvety pull against his tongue. He had been completely unknowing as to why to begin with. All he knew was that it was strange to be awoken with the inability to breath accompanied by coughs that violently wracked his entire form. The sudden experience was both terrifying and agonizing when the first petal fell daintily into his trembling palm. From there it was confusion and fear warring for focus at the forefront of his mind. The sleep in his tired frame ebbing away as he stared down at the single silken petal. It was such a delicate thing, easy to crush or rip apart, and so pale in color. How it could bring such pain was completely beyond him. He sat there for several minutes just watching the small floral piece as if it would hold all the answers he wished to ask. It didn't last for long. Not when realization took its small victory and the answer finally settled in place: Hanzo Shimada was in love.

Hanahaki disease was not unheard of or particularly new to the archer. He'd encountered it many times through his travels and he knew precisely how to fix it. It was either surgery or accept the finality of his life. If he was truly heartless or as cruel as he made himself out to be, he would have already spoken to Mercy. He would have scheduled the surgery without any hesitation and gotten rid of these piteous feelings and then gone about his day normally. He harbored them instead. He allowed them to foolishly blossom and spread like a virus until he was completely overthrown by their strength. It was wretched and he knew it but he couldn't stop them. He bound them deep within his heart never to let them rise again. Especially when the sole focus of his affections came before him.

It was rather unfortunate given how often the man appeared. And always with rumbling laughter and bright smiles that could light up an entire room. He was everything Hanzo could never be and all that he had ever truly wanted. Jesse McCree was a careless cowboy with a kind and warm heart. The gunslinger had cursed him the moment he'd met him. How could he not? The man was just so _good_ and adored by all those around him. No matter how rude Hanzo could be, McCree never seemed to falter in staying cheerful and happy.

And perhaps this was his penance for his past wrongs? It seemed as if the universe was balancing his crimes as though it were a true juror. He could never be happy-not with what he had done to his younger brother. With what he had done to his family or what had transpired during his adolescence. He had far too much blood on his hands and too ever be considered good enough to love. This cruelty was his to bear.

So he never scheduled the surgery and the symptoms never lessened. They became progressively worse. The once occasional petal soon became three and his coughs increased in intensity as well as pain. He could handle it all, and he did. Alone in his bedroom and secured away from the rest of his team with only the floral remains as his company. It was all fine all up till blood began to stain the petals. The crimson liquid seemed soak and stain each delicate pastel piece, transforming the disease into something far more terrifying and gruesome. Panic closed in around him, highlighting his current struggles and anxieties, building pressure within him. He reminded himself that he deserved this. The words circling through him until the earlier trauma was mostly forgotten and his crisis was folded away neatly within the recesses of his mind. This was his punishment. _He deserved this._

Time continued on and the disease did not slow its progression. Instead, it spread from not only causing physical trauma but mental as well. Despair clung to him, eating away at the stoicism within his heart. It weakened his composure and his sensibilities until he became a shell of the bitter man he once was. His anxiety tore him apart at night whilst his new impulsiveness worsened his state during the day. He clung to every second he had with the cowboy. He chased after the man to simply bask in his company and tender teasings as if he were a dog begging for scraps. He knew he should be finding every reason to avoid the man but Hanzo could only drag himself closer-desperate to see the man smile and know that he had placed it there. How odd that his impending death would drive him to such recklessness and abandon. He no longer cared about remaining alone or keeping to himself around the other man. There was no hesitation to open up or return each snarky remark in order to start some friendly banter. They grew closer and Hanzo became weaker for it.

His flourishing companionship with McCree certainly wasn't helping the symptoms or his heart with the disease. The man did not love him and it was obvious that he never would. There were no lingering touches or sideways glances from the cowboy and never any flirtatious comments. They were friends and only just that. Any and every tease or touch was platonic and they all ate away at Hanzo rapidly. No matter how he reminded himself time and time again that he could remove it with surgery. He could fix this- _he could stop loving the man_ -and get on with his life. In the end, no matter how the moments ripped his fragile heart to pieces, he never entertained the idea of accepting the surgery.

The symptoms became unbearable as fall ended. No one noticed how it affected the archer, not so closely at least. He could easily pass it off as a cold when the coughing began to show itself more predominantly when he wasn't alone and all believed him. There were a few concerned murmurs but nothing that ever proposed a true inquiry. They left him alone. Either worried about catching his supposed ' _cold_ ' or because they didn't care. He didn't truly know but didn't actually matter because this was his punishment.

Hanzo reminded himself again that **he deserved this**. Even as his trembling fingers crushed the soft petals and his wheezing filled the silence of his room. _He deserved this_. The broken sobs of pain splintering over him as the blood leaked through his lips and over his wrists. _He deserved this_. The worsening sharp ache in his chest whenever McCree laughed or smiled in his vicinity-how the man radiated so beautifully before him whilst completely out of his reach. _**He deserved it all**_. 

And it all ended with a promise of happiness. Familial rather than romantic. Dinner was set out, hot chocolate passed around, and Hanzo was alone in his room watching his happy ending fall into his palms.

The petals littered the floor of his bedroom like a blanket of snow over the ground outside. His blood spreading out to stain and encompass whatever it touched in its path. It was just one of the reminders to how his night would end. He was no fool. He knew he could no longer go on. Even now he could feel the finality in every labored breath and weak cough he took. He no longer had the strength to clear out the petals-nor did he have the will to harbor these feelings anymore. It was over and no part of him found peace in that fact. _This was it_.

Letting his head fall back against the wall, Hanzo felt the first set of tears burn down his cheeks. He was weak, pathetic, and pitiful to be reacting this way. He should be calm and stoic in the face of his death but he couldn't. He couldn't be honorable, he couldn't find it in himself to be proud of the path to redemption he had followed. Everything he had sought for and fought to obtain was ending. It was over and he still hadn't completely accepted it yet. He should be happy knowing that at least the person he loved was content. That McCree was sitting at a table surrounded by people that loved him and that he loved in return. He could see it now if he closed his eyes. How everyone gathered close to the man, eager to share his company and the warm gentle smile he held for them all. How everyone wished to hear that carefree laugh that would follow behind any joke some would make. He could even see the disbelieving shake of the cowboy's head and the way his eyes brightened with mirth and happiness all the while. He was so desperate to see it one last time but his body simply wouldn't cooperate. 

Even now in his last moments he was being denied further happiness. It brought forth another bubble of agony until he was covering his mouth, trapping all the petals rushing to escape inside. He told himself _he deserved this_. He whispered it into his bloodied palms as a chant. He was surrounded by the proof that he was human-that he had once loved. That he had loved so _deeply_ and so **fully** that it had destroyed him from the inside out. And if there was one thing that was pleasant about it all... It was that the symptoms no longer plagued him any further. The itch at the back of his throat, the congestion with his chest, and the reediness of every breath-were all gone.

It was a warm winters night when Hanzo died.

**Author's Note:**

> I always feel like anything I write gets rushed at the end. Then again, a lot of what I write are little blurbs I send to people in the moment so they're not well constructed anyway.  
> It was 3 AM when I started writing this out and it is now 6:42 AM and I decided I should just stop messing with it or I'll never be done fixing it up.  
> Also, there some mild gore-ish? Let me know if I should add any tags or what have you.
> 
> P/S: talk to me about angst. it's honestly my favorite thing in the world. plskthnx.


End file.
